


Seeing the Sights

by rubyelf



Category: Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-10
Updated: 2012-03-10
Packaged: 2017-11-01 18:36:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/359979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubyelf/pseuds/rubyelf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a trip to Edoras, a young Eomer is instructed to show a young Boromir around the city. He ends up showing him quite a bit more, which Boromir finds a bit surprising but apparently not objectionable. Also, a rather older Eomer and Boromir debate over whose responsibility it is to make the floor stop misbehaving.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seeing the Sights

**Author's Note:**

> (If you consider two sixteen-year-olds doing a bit of groping to be underage, I suppose these two might be. I consider this pretty typical behavior for sixteen-year-olds, so....)

Eomer’s laugh echoed down the nearly empty streets, loud enough at this hour of night that someone might have said something if he hadn’t happened to be walking next to (or stumbling in the general vicinity of) the Steward of Gondor.

“You’ve had too much to drink,” Eomer declared.

“How do you figure that?” Boromir asked. “I think it’s you that’s had one too many.”

“You’re the one who can’t stand still.”

“I’m standing perfectly still. It looks like I’m moving because you keep falling over sideways.”

“I do not!” Eomer announced indignantly, then proceeded to invalidate his argument by stumbling into the wall. Boromir laughed at this, but a moment later he had somehow ended up tipping over in the opposite direction.

“I do believe we may be drunk,” he observed thoughtfully.

“I am not drunk,” Eomer said.

“I see. Do you normally have to lean on walls to keep from falling down?”

“Only when the floor insists on wobbling like it is.”

“Terrible way for a floor to behave,” Boromir agreed. “I’ll have someone take a look at it first thing in the morning.”

“You’d better. Someone could get hurt.”

The two men managed to make their way as far as Boromir’s room without any further incidents.

“I think you should invite me to come in,” Eomer declared.

“I think I won’t.”

“Then I’ll come in anyway.”

“Suit yourself,” Boromir said, and then unleashed an outburst of curses as he stepped in Finn’s water bowl and nearly fell over. An inspection of his now-wet boot drew further curses, and Eomer’s roar of laughter didn’t help matters. Finn, asleep on a rug by the fire, looked up at the two men, sighed, and closed her eyes again, recognizing the current situation as one she wanted no part of.  
Eomer collapsed into a chair, unable to laugh and maintain his balance at the same time. Boromir flopped down in the other chair, muttering dire warnings that went entirely unheeded.

“I recall the first time you and I had a drink together,” Eomer said, when he could catch his breath enough to stop laughing.

Boromir scowled. “That was all your fault.”

“How’s that?”

“You were supposed to be showing me around Edoras.”

Eomer grinned. “You do know I was supposed to be arranging for you to fall in love with my sister, right?”

“Of course. Was that my father’s idea or your uncle’s?”

“Probably both.”

“Didn’t work.”

“I remember,” Eomer chuckled. “Quite well, actually. We were… what, sixteen?”

“Something like that.”

“You were a handsome youngster, if I recall.”

“You weren’t.”

“I see. So that’s why you couldn’t stop staring at me, right?”

.....................................................................................................................................

He had been introduced to the broad-shouldered young man with the shaggy blond hair at dinner the night before, but hadn’t bothered to listen to his name, as he was too busy sulking about not being allowed to go out and watch the soldiers of Rohan practicing their swordplay. Now, though, Denethor was insisting that this person take him and show him “everything there is to do in Edoras”, and Boromir was fully aware that he was being gotten rid of, but before he could pout, an enormously strong hand had grasped him enthusiastically by the arm and was tugging him toward the door.

“Come on, Boromir. We’ll go riding.”

This sounded slightly more interesting than the tour of the city his father had threatened him with, so he agreed to it. Eomer, who handled the horses with a careless confidence born of experience, had two of them saddled up before Boromir could even offer to help. Not that Boromir had intended to offer to help; he’d been preoccupied watching the coiled ball of muscular energy that was Eomer bouncing across the barn with untiring enthusiasm.

“What’s in the saddle bags?” Boromir asked, eyeing the bags strapped behind Eomer’s saddle as they prepared to ride out of the city.  
“Lunch.”

This sounded like a very sensible idea to Boromir, and he thought nothing of it until the sun was high overhead and the city far out of sight behind them. Eomer had spent much of the morning pointing things out to Boromir, who had rarely been provided with opportunities to observe the world in such an unhurried way: the killdeer that hopped ahead of them, calling out pathetically as she dragged her broken wing, only to leap into the air and fly away as soon as she had led them away from her nest, the big, noisy grasshoppers that bounded away as their horses stirred the grass, the white-speckled fawn lying so still in its grassy bed that Boromir would never have spotted it at all. When not looking at the things his host was showing him, he found himself looking at his host’s sturdy shoulders and the way the corded muscles of his legs seemed to mold to the sides of his horse, the knots in the wind-blown hair, and the intensity in his alert gaze.

“Hungry?” Eomer asked suddenly.

“Now that you mention it…”

Eomer laughed and hopped to the ground, untying the saddle bags. Boromir dismounted and stood holding his horse’s reins.

“Do we need to tie them?”

Eomer looked at him as if he didn’t understand the question. “What for? They won’t go anywhere.”

Boromir looked doubtful, but as the two young men unpacked their lunch, the two horses wandered a short distance away and occupied themselves with grazing.

“Sandwiches, cheese, apples…” Eomer muttered, handing things to Boromir. “Aha!”

“What is that?”

“What does it look like?”

“A bottle of something.”

“It’s not a bottle of something. It’s a bottle of my uncle’s whiskey. Surely you’ve had some before.”

Boromir snorted. “Of course. Lots of times.”

He was, of course, lying, and for that matter Eomer didn’t know any more about it than Boromir did, but since neither one of them could admit such a thing, they passed the bottle back and forth over lunch, both trying not to cough as the liquor burned down their throats. Although it tasted awful, it did seem to pool in the stomach with a pleasant warmth, and after a while they gave up on the lunch and the bottle and laid back in the grass, soaking up the warm sun.

“I could fall asleep like this,” Boromir admitted.

“So could I,” Eomer agreed, and Boromir noted absently that he had tossed his shirt aside. “Take your shirt off. The sun feels good.”

Boromir shrugged out of his tunic and lay back down again, observing contentedly that the sun did feel blissfully warm over his bare skin. He had nearly dozed off when a sudden twitch brought him back to awareness; fingers were combing through his wheat-blond hair, spreading it out over the grass. He glanced over at Eomer, mildly alarmed.

“My sister would love to have straight hair like yours,” Eomer said, his tone sleepy and conversational. “She hates her curls.”

“Girls do worry about silly things like that,” Boromir said, still watching his new friend uncertainly.

“You met my sister. Did you think she was pretty?”

“I… hadn’t noticed.”

Eomer grinned and tugged at Boromir’s hair. “You noticed me, though.”

Boromir blinked, surprised. “What?”

“Do you like girls, Boromir?”

“I… of course I… like girls. All boys like girls.”

Eomer’s grin widened. “Not all boys like girls. Haven’t you ever heard the soldiers talk?”

“My father doesn’t let me talk to the common soldiers. Only the ones he calls in to train me.”

“That’s a shame. You’d have heard some very interesting things.”

“Like what?” Boromir asked.

Eomer laughed and rolled onto his side, suddenly much closer, his fingers still tangled in Boromir’s hair.

“Like things about men who lay with other men.”

Boromir frowned. “Why would anyone want to do that?”

“Why not? Sometimes because there aren’t any women around. Sometimes because they would rather be with men than women. When you saw my sister… she’s a very pretty girl. Did you desire her?”

“I don’t… no. I didn’t.”

“Why not?”

His sturdy companion had moved even closer, and the grip in Boromir’s hair had become rather possessive, but this was the only contact between them.”

“Well…” Boromir muttered. “I suppose I don’t really know what I’d do with her. I don’t know what we’d talk about… I don’t think I’d enjoy her company…”

“Do you enjoy my company?” Eomer asked, eyes watching his face as intently as they’d watched a hawk flying by earlier.

“Yes, I do.”

“Don’t you think that if someone was going to touch you… do things to you… it should be someone whose company you happen to enjoy?”

Boromir swallowed hard, but didn’t back away when Eomer’s wiry arms wrapped around him, rolling him onto his side so that they lay against each other, bare chests together, skin warm from the sun and flaring everywhere it came into contact with more skin.

“What are you doing?” he asked, breathless.

“Enjoying your company,” Eomer chuckled. This close, he smelled of horses and wind and the sweet grass stems he’d been chewing on all morning, all of that underlying the scent of sun-baked skin and sweat and muscle. He raised one hand to grip Boromir’s hair again, and Boromir found his other hand rising of its own accord to run through the wind-tangled straw-gold mane that was brushing against his forehead.

“Would you rather that be my sister’s curls?” Eomer asked.

Boromir shook his head, and Eomer grinned broadly, something in his eyes laughing and triumphant, and pulled Boromir’s head toward his and kissed him. It was not the hesitant kiss of an uncertain maiden, but the bruising heat of fearless demand. Boromir didn’t know if it might have been possible to resist such a kiss, but it was certainly beyond his ability, and he closed his eyes and felt himself pulled closer. When Eomer finally released him from the kiss, still wearing his bright grin, Boromir realized for the first time that somehow they were pressed as tightly together as it was possible to be, the searing contact flashing from the lips that reached for his mouth again, down the bare chests to the hips that ground hard together, down the entangled legs wrapped around each other. He discovered that his fingers were tightly wrapped in Eomer’s hair in a trembling grasp, and that one of Eomer’s hands had wandered down and found its way into the curve of his back, where it seemed to be pulling them even closer.

“If you’d like, we can fetch the horses and head back,” Eomer said.

It took a moment for Boromir to process the words. “What? No… I don’t want…”

“That’s what I thought.”

He closed his eyes again and surrendered to what amounted to a determined attack on his mouth by Eomer’s insistent kisses. When a hand slipped between them and he felt it twisting and tugging at the ties of his breeches, he started to pull back, but Eomer’s other hand was now planted firmly on his ass and grasped it hard, drawing a gasp and sending Boromir’s hips jerking sharply against Eomer’s. He felt the laces pulled loose, but the hand was still working, and he realized with a trace of alarm that the other young man was working at the ties of his own breeches.

Eomer felt the hesitation, laughed, and grabbed Boromir’s hand, tugging it downward.

“Untie those laces, Boromir.”

Boromir mumbled an incoherent protest, but his fingers were already groping at the leather ties, shaking slightly at the smooth hardness that stirred under his fingers. The laces finally gave way, and Boromir tried to take his hand back, but Eomer grasped him by the wrist and led him down again, and this time a quiet sound of something between distress and desire escaped him when he found the smooth roundness of the head of Eomer’s cock nudging into the palm of his hand. Before he could force his mind to decide what to do about this, Eomer’s hand swiftly tugged him free of his breeches and wrapped around him, shifting his weight until their cocks brushed against each other. Boromir moaned and shuddered at the shock that seared through his gut, pushing involuntarily into the warm grasp, his own hand curling around the hard length pressing into it.

“This isn’t a girl’s hand,” Eomer said, with the same intensity in his voice that burned in his eyes. “But you like it, don’t you.”

Boromir’s response did not in any way resemble a coherent statement. Eomer grinned and kissed him again.

“There are things I could do to you, Boromir… you don’t just want my hand, do you? You want something better.”

Boromir struggled to process the idea that there might be anything better, but before he could contemplate what that might involve, his chest was exposed to the sun again as he was rolled onto his back, both of Eomer’s hands now inside his breeches, gripping his ass tightly, and his breathing hard and eager over Boromir’s groin. This he had heard about, mostly in the context of dirty jokes and whispered suggestions, but nothing anyone had ever told him prepared him for the enveloping heat that flared from his cock to engulf his entire body as Eomer chuckled and took him into his mouth. He bucked hard, helpless to do anything else, but Eomer’s sturdy weight on his legs and the fierce grip of his hands kept him pinned, writhing, feeling the smooth skin of Eomer’s shoulders as he grasped at them desperately. Suddenly and without warning, his head slammed back against the ground and he twisted, shouting something unintelligible and digging his fingers hard into Eomer’s shoulders, lost beneath a wave that rolled over him and left him gasping, stunned, and shaking.

He was vaguely aware of Eomer sliding back up to lay beside him, but then he heard a low chuckle and his eyes flew open, ready to fly into a rage if he found even a trace of mockery on Eomer’s face. Instead, though, he found only a warm, contented grin, half-closed eyes looking back at him with good-natured amusement.

“I told you it would be good,” he said, his voice low and sleepy.

Boromir found himself completely without words, so Eomer laughed and planted a quick kiss on his forehead.

“Are you all right?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” Boromir muttered, but Eomer’s hand was rubbing absently over his chest, and he couldn’t remember ever feeling quite so warm and sated and filled with a sense that all was right with the world, at least for the moment. It occurred to him to enquire after Eomer’s well-being, but Eomer just chuckled.

“I’m fine, Boromir. Doing that to you was… extremely satisfying.”

Boromir flushed, but this made Eomer laugh, and Boromir couldn’t avoid chuckling himself.

“Aren’t you and your father here for another few days?” Eomer asked.

Boromir glanced over at him and smiled lazily. “That’s what I heard.”

“I’m sure Eowyn would take you riding tomorrow if you asked her.”

Boromir’s laugh rumbled under Eomer’s hand, and he rolled over to examine the deep finger-shaped bruises beginning to darken on Eomer’s shoulders.

“No thanks. Didn’t my father instruct you to show me everything there is to do in Edoras?”

Eomer grinned broadly and held up the half-empty bottle of whiskey. “Oh, there’s quite a bit left to show you.”

..........................................................................................................................................

Boromir leaned back in his chair, rubbing Finn’s head with his foot. “Never did get to show me all those things you promised, did you.”

Eomer yawned and shook his head. “Not for lack of trying, but if I recall correctly, your father wasn’t at all amused that we both came home from our ride quite drunk in the middle of the afternoon.”

“He forbade me to ever associate with you again,” Boromir said.

“Think he’s rolling over in his grave right now?”

Boromir thought for a moment, smiling to himself. “Quite sure of it.”

“You know… that offer to show you those things still stands, Boromir.”

The other man chuckled and shook his head. “Not going to take you up on that offer, my friend.”

“I know, I know. Aragorn’s gone and laid claim to you, the bastard.”

Boromir shrugged. “Can’t be helped.”

“I don’t believe your little brother is taken yet…”

“Keep your dirty hands off of him, Eomer.”

“Make me,” the Horse Lord challenged.

“I will,” Boromir said, eyes drifting closed. “As soon as I’ve had a nap.”  
........................................................................................................................................  



End file.
